Life and Love
by L-DOG
Summary: Harry Potter, sixth year hero, is still fighting against many battles. His alliances are doing all they can to keep him stable, but problems are arising instananeously. The first of many chapters, H/H romance sublot, and warning of an explicit suicide sce
1. Bliss

Life and Lov1 __

Life and Love

Chapter One: Bliss

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Disclaimer: These delightful characters belong to Joanne Rowling, who should let me enter her brain, steal the plots for the next books, and allow me to write the next ones with my own ideas in mind. Because if she doesn't make them Harry/Hermione, I might find that I don't like the books quite as much anymore. 

Author's Notes: Well, now, let's see. Um…I'll apologize in advance for making Harry suicidal, but I didn't want to write a battle, and the direction I'm going in with this story sort of requires him to be lonely, injured and emotionally _wrecked_. It'll get brighter, though, I promise. This plot revolves around James in a bit of it, to warn you. And I admit: I used others' ideas. So sue me. 

Summary: Harry Potter, sixth year hero, is still fighting against many battles. His alliances are trying all they can to keep him stable, but complications are coming up instantaneously. Voldemort is back for Harry's blood, the media is a living nightmare, and James Potter is back…

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HARRY'S POV

Harry Potter sat stiffly in his bed in the Gryffindor boy's dormitory, trying to focus his eyes in the raven enclosing him. Somewhere beyond the back of his eyes inside of his head, a stinging pain surged through, throbbing and slashing until Harry couldn't keep himself from swearing. A piercing breeze slid through the room, gliding through the stagnant air. 

He shivered.

The light wind seemed to reflect Harry's entire being for the past few months. Soaring hopelessly through a suffocative wall of confusion, nipping people's senses until things would calm down and he would feel human again. But he wasn't feeling human anymore, more like a mere spirit inhabiting someone's body and functioning without any kind of consideration or thought of the pain that he was feeling. 

His friends and peers would comfort him without any knowledge of what he truly felt like and insisted that things would get better soon. How many times had he heard that? How many times had he told _himself_ that? 

Harry blinked. A stirring and vehement cloud shifted away from the moon, briefly lighting his bed to where he could make out the wrinkles in the rich fabric surrounding him. But all too soon, he was plunged back into darkness again. Harry supposed the blindness of night was good for him, because if his brain had to absorb anything else, he might just completely crack.

This night was just like any other. Harry would sit through dinner and pretend to eat while he really just pushed things into different positions on the plate to make it look like at least some of it was missing. Ron and Hermione would uncomfortably glance at him, look quickly away again, and then try to say something matter-of-factly. Harry would just nod and stare, not really listening at all.

After dinner, they would trudge their way to the Gryffindor common room, still sharing wide-eyed glances as if to say, "What's up with him? What do we do?" while Harry would trail behind looking at the floor to try to make out little patterns where feet had imprinted the rugs or carpet. Anything to quit analyzing memories and events of his life. 

But there was something different about tonight, Harry realized as he thought about its previous happenings while listening to the rain start to slash around in his bed. 

__

I talked about it. 

FLASHBACK

"Harry, I – I wanted to talk to you. I was worried," Hermione said in a barely audible voice that shook with concern and terror that he might do something stupid. He just kept his focus on the bright orange flames that seemed to dance in slow motion before his eyes. The heat was burning them but he still kept them wide open.

Hermione's fear and nerves seemed to melt away and she looked considerably angry. Her voice was still pitched at no more than a hoarse whisper, but this time, venom laced her words.

"Harry, you have to talk. You're so selfish sometimes, and I don't understand it. Is it pride? Is it arrogance? I really don't know, but I don't think that you have that large of a head. And that's why I'm concerned about you. Because either you're a selfish jerk or there's something going on in your head that I don't know about and it's seriously altering your personality. What happened to sweet, polite, charming, funny Harry Potter? What's going on? Why can't you just _tell me_?"

Harry looked into her cinnamon eyes, tracing out each fleck of gold and studying her pupils, wondering what he could possibly say. No language could really describe his emotions, because they weren't like anything he had really experienced before. Words like "sad," "scared," and "depressed" flashed in his mind's eye, but they didn't even come close to representing his state of mind right now. 

He watched Hermione still as tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to come spilling out. Their threats became reality, and she was soon sobbing on Harry's chest, frantically muttering things like "Why don't you trust me?"

He held her for a few moments and then spoke, his voice rough for lack of using it in such a long period of time. "Hermione, I _do_ trust you. More than Ron, more than Dumbledore, more than anyone else in this world. I never thought I deserved much. What had I ever done for anyone? Caused them to have a topic of gossip?"

Harry paused, biting his lip. He was going about this all the wrong way. He changed his angle. "What I'm getting at is that I need something more than fame and recognition. I don't know what love feels like. How was I supposed to? When I was younger, Dudley would pummel people senseless if they dared be polite to me. People could come up to me and say that they thought I was really nice, but then they'd see Dudley coming our way and then they'd run before finishing their sentence. The Dursley's affection was about as much as a deer would have for you if you didn't shoot it. No, not even that. I was a rock in their shoes – constantly there and impossible to get rid of."

Harry sighed again, still wondering how he would properly get his point across. "I'm empty. I feel like a robot or a dense character from a book – I say things, I do things, but do they have any passion or heart in them? What's the use of a human life if you're just going to function without feeling?"

Tears were silently falling down Hermione's cheeks again.

"My past is completely non-worthy if it's not going to do any good for the future. Dumbledore once told me that the only way I could conquer _anything_ would be if I wanted it that badly and loved enough to actually want it in the first place. But right now, I really don't care what happens to me or my future. And I don't know what love is, so how am I supposed to be able to recognize it even if it's slapping me right in the face?"

Hermione had been shaking her head, still crying. "You're so stupid, Harry. So stupid," she sobbed. He looked at her questioningly. She just glared and repeated her previous words. "Get away from me," she spat, pushing Harry's arms away. He felt like he had just stepped out from an extremely warm shower and into an ice filled room. 

It was then that he realized that he had felt love for the first time. It wasn't the pang of nervousness you feel when you see someone very attractive, it wasn't the light-hearted ache in your gut that only came around when you were laughing with your best friend, and it wasn't the contented peace you got when you stroked your pet. It was the suffocation that you get when you know that one person could have the power to rip you apart with one single word or make you feel like the rest of the world didn't matter in the slightest.

Before Harry could say anything, he heard the girl's dormitory door slam. After staring at it for a few minutes with blurred vision, he gazed into the fire again, slowly drifting back to how he was earlier. And before he knew it, the comprehension of love had been forgotten and things became hazy and vague again. Slowly, the embers of fire had almost burned out completely, and familiar jittery exhaustion captured Harry's thoughts.

__

END FLASHBACK

Harry slowly lifted his body from the bed, his feet snagging the several velvet blankets. The hangings were eerily swaying in the breeze, waving in a gentle rhythm and lulling him to faintness again. The range of vision in front of him spun in circles, as if moving around his head. Suddenly, all became still and the previously stirring drapery hung around the window came to a motionless stop. He looked around.

Lying on top of the bedside table was an old and tattered book, which Harry hadn't remembered placing there. It was faded to a light blue from a rich navy color and its gold letters were peeling away and barely legible. It was odd, no doubt, but the book lured a strange comforting feeling and didn't seem to be dangerous. What he didn't realize was that his instincts were gravely wrong. Danger was luring around the corner like a particularly vicious Hungarian Horntail, silently waiting to attack.

The cover read _Life and Love_.

Squinting through the continual darkness, Harry slowly raised his arm to touch the book's bedraggled cover, and slid his fingers across the rough binding. A shiver ran down his spine, and his fingers tingled with an unknown magic. Images started swirling around in front of his face that made his whole body sag with sadness. 

The bright green eyes of a fair woman closed, the moonlight illuminating her eyelids. Her soft pink lips were being drained of color and the image slowly faded to blackness. Then Harry seemed to be being pulled backwards by a mystical force. He heard Hermione laughing, as though in the distance. Trying with all his might to stay conscious, he saw deep blue eyes staring straight ahead, growing to a dusky color of gray. There was blood in the person's messy black hair. 

Hermione was laughing at Harry cruel and mirthlessly. In his mind, he pleaded with her to stop being so brutal. She just continued to laugh and smirk, putting her face close to his. 

"They don't care about you, Harry Potter. They're angry with you," he voice echoed tauntingly. She sounded almost inhuman. "You killed them. It's your fault, Harry. They're dead because of you." She glared. "Didn't you? Didn't you kill them? Wasn't it your fault?"

Harry blinked. There was a green tinge in the horizon, announcing the morning's appearance. The sky was velvet black, the stars were still visible and the air was crisp and cold. Everything was brewing with evil. 

He knew what he was going to do.

Glinting in the moonlight was the pocketknife Sirius had given him for Christmas years ago. It too was seemingly laughing at him, as if knowing his perspicuous plans. He picked it up.

Gliding through the room to the door without looking back, he passed window upon window swiftly as he ran down the stairs. His black cloak was flying out behind him and the hair on his neck was standing up. He was taking in deep, ragged breaths, but he wasn't the least bit scared. Harry had wanted this for a long time coming, though not entirely consciously. 

Harry paused at the portrait hole. Where was he going to go? Surely not anywhere in the castle…that would be like running into the enemy on purpose and allowing them to kill you right then and there. He didn't want to be found before he could carry out his plans. It would be cowardly and weak. He wasn't a coward _or_ weak. No, this was going to happen whether anybody liked it or not.

He was going to die.

Harry paused and looked at the surreal landscape just outside one of the windows. The large, frosted orb in the sky stood in a sharp relief against the silky black behind it, where tiny pricks of white were visible. The Forbidden Forest was so dark that you could hardly tell it was there, and it almost looked like the sky had covered it up completely. It was a perfect place to find either terror or comfort. In Harry's case, it was comfort. It was freedom. It was relief. It was where _home_ could be found. 

Pushing himself to get the forest faster, Harry almost tripped over his own feet when he ran through the castle's glorious oak entryway. The biting air felt like a thousand knives going through his face, but his destination was getting ever closer. He could almost find pleasure in imagining the outcome. The looks of it were hideous and dark in his mind's eye, but the real quest was ethereal. 

Harry was running so hastily that the ground felt like simply air, and colors were rushing past so quickly that the sensation of flying was engulfing his senses. His feet seemed to be floating above the ground; maybe he really was flying. He didn't think about this at all, but only focused on the trees that seemed to be gushing towards him. They soon turned into dusky blurs also, and the trail underneath him was like flowing, brown water. Harry told himself to keep going, and he did. His breath was coming in brief and low now, but he was a fighter. He really, truly was. 

As the very energy began to drip away from his body, thoughts sprung up that bothered him greatly. When was little and locked up in his cupboard, being lonesome was not uncommon. He had always promised himself to never give no matter the situation, but now, Harry was unsure as to what he could consider _this_. It wasn't necessarily _giving up_; it was trying something different. No, Harry thought while changing his mind, this is the _solution_. 

Harry scowled when he found himself suddenly in shin-deep, freezing water. His legs were already shaking from exhaustion and overworking them, and the shivering was surely not helping him in the slightest. His chest was now so tight from running that nothing but a faint wheeze came out, and his head felt strangely empty, like his skull had nothing inside of it. The vim from earlier was now completely gone. Any thoughts of moving were unfathomable, not worth wasting precious energy on. 

Failing to get out of the numbing water, Harry just let his body weight fall, making water cover his clothes and face. It rushed outwards, and Harry felt faintly dizzy from watching the trees get much, much taller in an instant. He could hardly feel the solidity of being plunged in water, just utter insensibility and cold. Half of his body felt like knives were slicing through it, while the other half just felt pressure on all sides, forcing inwards and making him feel more stable than earlier in the day. 

He almost wanted to find another place to wallow in misery, but couldn't get the nerve to do it. He therefore settled for just plain sitting there until he felt ready and content. It was a long five minutes, to say the least. 

Harry reached inside his cloak to pull out the knife Sirius had given him. He felt strangely happy and finally convinced himself that what he was doing was not selfish at all. He was merely doing the world a favor. Simple as that.

The knife looked fairly new after having it all those years. The blade was as thin as paper. So thin, in fact, that it looked transparent at the angle he was holding it at. It was evil, in a way. The whole situation was quite funny to Harry. So typical, so _easy_, and lighthearted. He didn't understand why so many people were afraid he would do this, like Sirius, who had been keeping an annoyingly close watch on him. This wasn't dying – this was _hope_.

The blade slowly penetrated the skin around Harry's wrist, partially disappearing at the tip. Dark red came into view rapidly. The blood spread down his forearm, feeling like someone tracing his or her warm finger down it. It ran in slow motion, curving at different places. Soon, though, his thick cloak absorbed the blood, and the cycle would begin again. Now, however, there was thick liquid staining his skin _everywhere_. Any tiny activity and it would slip around arm and onto his hand, covering it like crimson paint.

He proceeded to the other wrist. Soon, Harry could feel the very life in him slipping away, not unlike the feeling he got when coming too near a Dementor. It was almost like sticking your face in incense smoke and feeling it wrap around your face and head, then slowly swirling around your body. 

It was bliss.

****

Author's Note #2: Look out for chapter two soon! No more gross suicide scenes…


	2. Happiness and Sorrow

Life and Lov1 __

Life and Love

Chapter Two: Happiness and Sorrow

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Disclaimer: These delightful characters belong to Joanne Rowling, who should let me enter her brain, steal the plots for the next books, and allow me to write the next ones with my own ideas in mind. Because if she doesn't make them Harry/Hermione, I might find that I don't like the books quite as much anymore. 

Author's Notes: Forgive me for using other's ideas…I know, I know, I'm guilty…But I had this in my head for quite a while and then people started posting things about it, so really, I'm just catching on a little late. Sorry! Quite a few people have written about James Potter coming back, but this one is just adapted to _my_ ideas. But rest assured, it's not _entirely_ about his so-called "re-birth," that's just one of the events in the story. And…um…info! You have to realize that Harry was having quite some problems…and the book he found has a lot to do with that! But you'll hear more about that later…And I'm trying to stray away from the whole predictable thing. I think I'm failing miserably. The whole Harry/Hermione romance is twisted too…and all you Harry/Cho and Ron/Hermione shippers will get your taste but not for long! And…um…this story is mainly about how Harry is coming to terms with the fact that people actually love him…AND I DIDN'T MEAN TO RATE IT G!!!

Summary: Harry Potter, sixth year hero, is still fighting against many battles. His alliances are trying all they can to keep him stable, but complications are coming up instantaneously. Voldemort is back for Harry's blood, the media is a living nightmare, and James Potter is back…

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SIRIUS'S POV

Sirius Black flipped through the many pages in _The Guide to Avada Kedavra_, occasionally sighing and shaking his head. He was in the Gryffindor common room, waiting for Harry come down for breakfast. It was only six o'clock in the morning, but they had a schedule that they always kept ever since Sirius became a professor at Hogwarts. They liked to have time on their own, where no living being could interrupt them.

Earlier, he had seen Harry rushing from the boy's dormitory with a purpose, failing to see Sirius performing some strange charms in the middle of the night. Sirius supposed he feel asleep when Harry came back, but Ron had gotten up a few hours late of that, claiming he hadn't seen Harry come back. Presently, as Sirius watched Hermione come into to common room, he became quite baffled, owing to the knowledge that he had resigned to the fact that Harry had gone out last night to meet Hermione somewhere.

"Oh, good morning, Sirius!" she exclaimed brightly, clearly in a good mood.

"Hi, Hermione. You haven't any idea where Harry went off to, have you?"

Her eyebrows creased. "No," she said slowly, "Why? You haven't seen him at all?"

"No," he quickly said as to not worry her, "I just wondering if you knew. I'm not worried; I'm sure he's still sleeping."

Hermione looked thoughtful. For a moment they just sat there, but Hermione abruptly headed towards the boy's dorm. She came back a few minutes later, looking quite pale. "He wasn't up there," she said. Sirius nodded, his own lips forming into a frown. 

"Well, keep an eye out for him. I'm going to be working on these charms."

She nodded briefly and strode towards the portrait hole. "Well," she said, "I'll be in the forest for a bit doing some things for Hagrid, if you find him. Please hurry and tell me, I'm quite worried."

"I will, Hermione," he said sincerely.

With that, she left Sirius to concentrate on his book.

~*~

Hours later, Sirius had shifted his spot in the common room to the teacher's headquarters, where privacy could be ensured. His yearlong attempt to bring a dead person to the present, not necessarily to life, was almost complete. He had been working on this in secret, wishing to surprise Harry for his graduation. The charm was not permanent, but Sirius was sure Harry would appreciate getting to know his father all the same. Remus was just in the dark as Harry was, and no one truly knew if the charms really worked. Well, Sirius thought, let's find out…

With a whoosh of Sirius's wand, a head popped out of the ground. He was astonished how much it was like seeing Peter Pettigrew become forced into human shape from a rat. The black-haired head was soon resting on broad shoulders…then a torso grew and finally, long legs sprouted from the floor. 

James Potter was standing in front of Sirius Black looking just as he had the last time Sirius had seen him sixteen years ago, only, well, _alive_. 

"J-James," Sirius gasped.

The six-foot figure grinned sideways, and cocked an eyebrow. His bright blue eyes were twinkling. James glanced around the room, then grinned at his best friend again. "Well," he said, "_Say_ something, you smarmy bloke." 

"H-hi," he managed. James shook his head a rolled his eyes with his hands on his hips. "Padfoot, you just brought me back to life and you can't say one single word to me? How disappointing."

Sirius just gaped at him, tears welling in his eyes. He rushed towards James and gave him a backbreaking hug, worse even than Hagrid's big bear hugs. 

"God, James, I've missed you _so_ much…" he said as he stepped back. "And wait until you see Harry, he's so old now, and brave…"

"I know," James said.

"What – you – "

"No, I just know he turned out wonderfully. Anyone raised by you – "

Sirius cut him off. "I didn't raise him," he said in a barely audible voice.

"Why not?" James asked, frowning.

"They sent me straight to Azkaban without a trial. They only just caught Peter…I went to prison for twelve years, and have been on the run ever since. But I'll tell you about that later…I want to talk about Harry."

James suddenly looked very sad. "Can I see him?" he asked seriously. 

Just as Sirius was nodding and opening his mouth to speak, a strangled scream forced their attention elsewhere. They bolted out of the room into the entrance hall. 

__

JAMES'S POV

James stumbled out of the room into the Hogwarts entrance hall to find a girl with long brown hair crouched over a wet figure in a black cloak. Madam Pomfrey, who looked a lot older than when James last saw her, was standing over the two people with her hands over her mouth and her eyes as wide as saucers. She was the one who screamed. 

Sirius backed against the wall, his head hitting one of the flaming torches. It fell to the ground and promptly burnt out. He slid to the floor with a hand over his mouth.

James stood, confused, his eyes tracking the many people appearing from behind doors and flowing down the marble staircase. Soon, the entire hall was full of students clad in black. None of them looked twice at James, but only focused their attention on the three people directly in his range of vision. The entire scene was frozen in front of his eyes.

"Oh dear God," Sirius gasped, and struggled to get to the middle of the room. Most were reluctant to move, but after Sirius snarled at them, they swiftly cleared his way. As James trailed behind Sirius, he just initiated to ask what had happened when he saw the cloaked figure. It was nauseating.

Behind the panicked girl was a boy of about sixteen, almost six feet tall. His cloak was hooded in white frost and covered most of his body. As James moved closer, he saw a face, the most sorrowful and dolorous face he had ever seen. It was so ashen that the sickening color almost seemed to radiate around him. Similar to the icy cloak, freeze layered his eyelashes and eyebrows, turning them almost as white as his skin. The boy's purple lips no longer hinted that any blood was still there. They were just arid and pale, so horrid and revolting that James could hardly stand to look at them.

His eyes moved downward, towards the dark-haired boy's white hands that stood out so boldly among the mass of black. His stomach retched. 

Red.

Black.

White.

He was in the Hospital Wing. He barely glimpsed Madam Pomfrey before passing out again. 

"Oh God, Sirius, I can't look at him…I can't look at him…oh God…what're we going to do?"

Girl.

"Hermione, calm down, he's all right."

Sirius.

"NO! HE'S NOT ALL BLOODY RIGHT!" the girl named Hermione screamed. "Look at him!" she barely gasped, out of breath from screaming so loudly before. James heard dry, wheezing sobs, and then the sound of Sirius scraping his chair back to go comfort her. 

"S-Sirius," James mumbled faintly. He heard two automatic gasps, and footsteps. While squinting his eyes, he could make out two blurry forms of human beings. Someone had removed his glasses. 

"Are you all right?" Sirius asked frantically. 

James nodded. "I need my glasses – I can't see," he croaked, then cleared his throat. "Thanks," James said clearly while sliding them on. He looked around. "Where's that boy?"

Sirius's brow creased. "Do you mean Harry?" 

"No, the boy who slit his wrists…"

Hermione made an odd choking noise and buried her face in her hands. James stared intently at Sirius, wondering why he looked so morose. 

Barely even putting air between his words, Sirius said lowly, "That _was_ Harry."

"_What_?" James gasped. "That was _Harry_?"

Sirius hung his head. 

James stared up at the ceiling, not really seeing it at all. That was his Harry, the little boy he was meant to play Quidditch with in the back yard, the one that was supposed to be embarrassed to go out in public with his father, the Harry that needed someone to love him. And he was dying alone with absolutely no one to tell him that there would always be someone there for him. No one to tell him that they cared for him with all their heart. No one to say, "I love you."

It was so strange…and so hard. Did those beautiful green eyes still twinkle like they did so many years ago? Was his smile still so mischievous and ornery?

It was difficult to believe that little Harry was the same boy James saw today with bloody wrists. He was so perfect, so _wonderful_, so dear…how could anyone let this happen to his little Harry? James remembered waking in the middle of the night to him crying, like he did so many nights. Harry would be bright red in the face, balling at the top of his lungs until someone would pick him up out of his crib and hold him until everything was all right again. He was so soft and weak, dependent and fragile. So precious. 

His tiny feet were ticklish…he didn't like marmalade…hair dryers made him scream…he liked running his small fingers over the pages of books…broomsticks were fascinating. 

__

What happened?

"Sirius," James said hopelessly, while thick pearly tears streamed down his face. "What am I going to do? I just don't what to do…you have to help me…"

Sirius looked at him sadly for a moment then hugged him with condolence. "I'm so sorry, James…"

~*~

Only minutes later, a tall redheaded boy came dashing into the hospital wing, puffing and looking quite terrified. "Sirius!" he said in relief, then spotted James. His face went from a lively pink to white. "But – "

"No, Ron, listen, I'll explain," Sirius said. He told Ron about bringing James back to the present, and how James was aware that he had indeed been dead for sixteen years. He accepted the story without any kind of doubt…he had grown used to mysterious revelations being made while playing the role as Harry Potter's best friend.

"But what about Harry?" Ron asked quickly. "Someone up in Gryffindor Tower told me – "

Sirius put up a hand to silence him. "Ron, Harry tried to kill himself, that's true. He's just behind that curtain, there." Sirius pointed. "But you mustn't blame this on yourself – "

But Ron wasn't listening. He looked crestfallen. "I – oh God – what – "

"Ron – " Sirius started, but Ron suddenly leapt up and dashed toward Harry's curtain. He wrenched it back to find an unconscious Harry bundled in blankets and surrounded by pillows. His chest was faintly rising and falling evenly.

"Oh God – he's okay," he sighed in relief. "Hermione," he said suddenly.

She looked up at him with swollen and bloodshot eyes. "Come here," he demanded. She did so and looked at him questioningly as he took both of her hands in his. "You told me that you loved Harry after we broke up in fifth year, right?"

Hermione nodded, still frowning.

"And did you mean it?"

Hermione nodded again.

"Right, well, my mum told me about this a long time ago when Uncle Bilius died – when someone is likely to pass away soon, the person who knows the victim the best can kiss them, and they if they kiss the right person, their recovery will be more promising. I know it's some silly wives tale, but it can't hurt to try, can it?"

Hermione looked sadly at Harry, then straight at James. It pained him to know that Hermione knew his son better than he did, but it was truth. James nodded to Hermione, as if giving her permission. She closed her eyes briefly, then turned to Harry's bed. 

"I love you, Harry," she whispered faintly, and kissed his purple lips. It was as though she was breathing life into him…color flushed to his cheeks and he sucked in a great, healthful breath, though still unconscious. Hermione looked at Ron, worried it hadn't worked, but when his face broke into a relieved smile, she almost fainted in alleviation. 

Harry's eyes, which had the deadened look that Sirius finally grew out of, fluttered open to see Hermione's face just over him, very close to tears.

"Hermione," he said with the most heart-crushing and tear-jerking voice ever to have been heard by the ears of man. His lips curled into a sweet smile, and Hermione brought a hand to her face to wipe away the sudden rush of tears. Harry's brows suddenly came very close together and he sat up with such a rush that Hermione jumped back in surprise.

"Come here," he ordered. "Now don't cry – it's not worth it," Harry said, shaking his head in disgust at himself that he would even have the nerve to make Hermione cry like that.

Hermione just started weeping harder, looking helpless and desolate. She fell into Harry's arms and began shaking all over in silent sobs. Harry made no objection to this; he smoothed her hair down lovingly and looked shopworn and sheepish.

"Hermione, listen to me," he said, pulling her up to look into her eyes. "Whatever I might do, or whatever I might have done already – I want you to know that this has nothing - absolutely _nothing_ – to do with you or Ron. I wasn't in my right mind, and it's not worth it to feel this way. I was being stupid and selfish, and I thought that I was doing you a favor if I did myself in. It was an ignorant assumption, and I'm sorry for ever even having the nerve to do something so hurtful to you. God," he added, shaking his head and biting his lip so hard that it drew blood. His eyes were brimmed with tears and he was still clinging to Hermione's shoulders. "I don't know what's getting in to me…I don't see straight anymore. These nightmares – God, the nightmares – " He closed his eyes and shivered at the mere thought of them. " – they're driving me mad. I can't tell the difference between dreams and reality anymore…"

Hermione let out a dry sob. Harry frowned and looked away. "I'm sorry," he said. "Don't pity me, though. _I_ was the one being an egotistical prig…thinking _I_ had all the problems. And that's ridiculous – you're more unsettled than I'll ever be. _You_ need help more than I do…what with suicidal best friends that run off to the forest and drown in freezing cold water and everything. I'm _still_ cold," he said, now grinning at Hermione's face, which seemed to be struggling to hold back even _more_ tears. 

They were both now sitting next to one another on the hospital bed, ignorant of everyone watching. To their astonishment, Harry easily got up to fetch Hermione a tissue. As he walked back towards the bed and faced James, the group heard a loud THUMP – Harry was on the floor, out cold. 

__

HARRY'S POV

There was red all around him – the velvet curtains of his bed. Harry moaned quietly, and twisted his head to look at his aching wrists. They were bandaged in white. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together with such force that they hurt.

"Harry?"

He suddenly sat up very quickly and wrenched back the hangings, hoping to find Cho, but it was Professor McGonagall. She stared at him with bloodshot eyes and a morose expression.

Breaking the silence, Harry said, "Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are currently in the hospital wing with James. They thought it best for you to just sleep for a bit, after the shock," she replied.

"Shock?" Harry asked. "And James who? Is he that first year we were working with last week?"

The professor stared at him again, then abruptly swished out of the boy's dormitory with no forewarning of where she was going. Harry watched in confusion for a moment at the empty space in front of him, then attempted to get dressed. Things kept rubbing against his wrists, and even though they were bandaged, it hurt very greatly.

Finding not a soul in the common room, Harry proceeded to the hospital wing, where he could find some explanations from Ron and Hermione, or at least some comfort.

****

Authors Note #2: Evil book. That's all I have to say. And Harry didn't really want to kill himself and that wasn't him talking…I love leaving people wondering!


End file.
